


Oh, What A Night!

by Black_Zora



Category: Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: Fiction And Reality Merge, Gen, Haunted House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Zora/pseuds/Black_Zora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was planned as a fun trip to a filming location turns into something strange and scary as Lost-Boys-tourist Felicia finds the Pogonip Country Club at Santa Cruz not exactly uninhabited ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, What A Night!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, The Lost Boys are not mine. All rights go to their respective owners. No money is being made with this.

Finally, after an hour-long walk, I was standing in front of the Pogonip Country Club. Well, almost; I still had several hundred feet to go. The hike had taken me longer than expected, and the sun was already dipping below the horizon, coloring the clouds spectacularly and turning the reflecting surface of the ocean into an astoundingly beautiful palette of red, orange and pink.

The strange thing was, from my point of view the old and dilapidated house looked to be inhabited. I had seen pictures of its current condition: surrounded by wire fences, the paint peeling, the wood rotting, the whole building slowly decaying. Now, however, I couldn't make out any of the high fencing, and there seemed to be light seeping out of the windows. Maybe someone was in there, doing repairs? I had read and rejoiced about the fact that they planned to recondition the building.

Oh, how I hoped that someone was "at home"! Perhaps I would be able to take a peek at the interior, maybe even to snap some pictures of it!

But it was probably only the setting sun, reflecting off the glass, that caused the impression of lights shining inside.

As I walked nearer, I noticed with a start that the front yard of the house looked totally different from the current photographs I had seen. There was a low, apparently home-made wooden fence surrounding the perimeter. Now I could see that there was indeed a car parked in front of the house. From my former observation point, it had been hidden behind the bushes. It was an old-timer sports car, a red Corvette, and immediately, I had to think of Max, the vampire leader in the Lost Boys movie. Since the movie had been partially filmed up here, and since part of the reason why I had come to Santa Cruz was to walk in the steps of the Lost Boys, this association came somewhat naturally.

My amazement grew as I took a closer peek at the front yard. It didn't look exactly as in the movie, but someone had gone to great lengths to make it quite similar. There were several large wooden statues that seemed to be the result of the current "design your stump by chainsaw" movement. Wind chimes made of driftwood, bones and shells were hanging from the trees and the roof rail. The front porch was decorated with numerous potted plants and products of artisan craftsmanship. As I peered over the fence into the growing darkness on the property, my excitement continually mounted. I grew almost giddy with it, my heart beating fast, and countless theories were swarming through my head.

Maybe they were preparing another movie sequel, this time doing it right and recreating the original eighties' feel? Or were they priming the place for an upcoming exhibition, turning it into a Lost Boys museum maybe, as fans had been hoping and proposing for decades? But why hadn't I seen anything about it anywhere in Santa Cruz? And how could I find out? Simply go to the front door, knock and ask? There must be a reason why this special kind of reconstruction work at the Pogonip Country Club hadn't been publicly announced.

The front gate was wide open. It appeared almost as an invitation to me. "Come in", it seemed to whisper, "come in and see for yourself …"

As I pondered whether I should risk it or not, I suddenly heard the sound of a motorbike, approaching fast. A second later, I could see the headlights, and again, I thought of the Lost Boys and half expected David and his Triumph to appear, his Boys in his wake, even though I could hear only one motor. But the biker never pulled into the drive. I saw the headlights flashing by as he – or she – drove past on the dirt track and further up into the hills.

Well, at least I wouldn't get eaten tonight, I thought, grinning to myself. Somehow, the appearance of the non-vampire biker had given me courage. I took a deep breath, and set a foot over the invisible threshold of the property.

There was a crack, and a growl, and then, something white shot out of the darkness surrounding the house. It was a large dog, a White German Shepard, my brain supplied, even while I was somewhat in shock. Running was not on option, for the dog would undoubtedly have been quicker than me, and since I was there on foot, there wasn't anywhere I could have taken refuge to anyway.

It's amazing how many thoughts can pass through your brain in two or three seconds – for that's how long it took the dog to reach me. It slithered to a stop in front of me, barking furiously, but, thankfully, not attacking.

The front door banged open. "Spike!" A slender form stood in the doorway, black in front of the light illuminating it from behind. A warm glow seemed to seep around it and out of the house, dripping onto the porch and over the front steps like water. The dog ceased its growling and sat back on its haunches, panting, tongue lolling out. From behind the dark form, a second dog appeared and made its way out into the yard, but this one approached in a lazy, non-threatening way, apparently only interested in checking me out, not in chasing me off the property and getting a gratifying muzzleful of flesh in the process. This one was a huge Malamute.

A White German Shepard and a Malamute, and a red Corvette in the driveway. Spooky.

"Spike!" the person called again. Judging from the voice, it seemed to be a teenage boy. "Oso!" Both dogs turned. The Malamute jogged back to the caller immediately, the Shepard only after a moment of hesitation.

The boy bent down to quickly pet the dogs, then stepped out onto the porch. "I'm sorry," he said. "Spike can be a bit of a bitch." One of the dogs whined, and the boy chuckled. It sounded nervous, or unsure. "Can I help you? Have you lost your way? That sometimes happens to hikers up here …" Although he was standing at least fifty feet away from me, his voice carried clearly.

"Ummm …" I hesitated a second. But what harm could it be? "Actually, I'm not lost, no. I only miscalculated the time it would take me to get up here. I wanted to have a closer look at the Pogonip. I didn't know that someone was actually … living here?"

The boy chuckled again. This time, it seemed far more self-assured. "You're a tourist then," he stated.

"Uh, yes … actually, I am."

"Not from the US?"

"No. I'm from Europe … Germany."

"Well … we don't have anything against tourists." I could hear him smile through his words. "In fact, we quite like them. You wanna come in? The dogs won't harm you."

An invitation into the house – and I didn't even have to ask! That was even better than what I had hoped for. "May I? Really?" I inquired, and felt a bit embarrassed that my excitement echoed in my voice.

He laughed. "I invited you, didn't I? My name's Jim, by the way."

"Felicia."

"Pleasure. Come in, and meet the family …"

Finally, I dared to take several more steps in the direction of the house. The dogs were still flanking the boy. The Malamute, Oso, as I assumed, seemed friendly, while the Shepard, Spike, was still eyeing my warily.

"Cut it, Spike!" Jim warned as the Shepard began to growl again, cuffing the dog lightly on the head. Then he smiled at me and extended his hand in greeting. His fingers were cold from the night air.

Close up, Jim seemed to be around fifteen, though with teenagers one can never be sure. His hair was an unruly, spiked up mess in black, but judging from its blueish tinge, it was probably dyed. In his left ear, he wore a small golden ring. His smile was wide and open-mouthed, showing his teeth, and his blue eyes sparkled mischievously. To me, he looked distinctly gay – not that it bothered me. Funny as it was, he actually wore a slight resemblance to Corey Haim, who had played Sam in the Lost Boys movie; but this boy was somehow more real and less caricature than Haim's character had been – a bit rougher around the edges.

Jim made an inviting gesture, ushering me through the door and directly into the sitting room. As soon as I crossed the threshold of the house, I was hit with a spell of dizziness. Compared to the cool night air, the building seemed overheated. At least that was what I first thought. Then I noticed that it wasn't actually that warm, but more like stuffy, as if the air wasn't able to circulate properly. It also smelled strange, a sickly sweet odor of … well, I couldn't exactly pinpoint it. Maybe wet dog, or dog food gone bad. Whatever it was, it made me feel slightly nauseous. For a moment, everything swam in front of my eyes, before, with a quiver and a shift, it came back into focus. But still, something was off about my perception. The colors were too intense, the noises too sharp, and everything was somehow hyper-real – as if I were on drugs. (Which I certainly wasn't.)

Like the front yard, the interior looked a lot, but not quite as in the movie, or rather, the old and custom-made furniture and artisan decoration gave off the same vibes as in The Lost Boys. However, there was not a single stuffed animal to be seen.

"Mum! Dad!" Jim called out from behind me. "I picked up another tourist!"

A small, slender woman stepped into the room. She wore an apron above a blouse and a long skirt, and her ginger hair was cropped shorter than her son's. Their kinship was immediately recognizable by their shared features. Both had blue eyes and a slightly longish face. Even their smiles were similar.

"An unexpected dinner guest! What a nice surprise!" she exclaimed, beaming up at me – she was half a head shorter. "I'm Mina."

"Felicia," I introduced myself again.

"Well, good evening to you, young lady." I looked up to where the voice had come from. A very tall man stood at the railing of the second floor. He wore no glasses, and his clothes looked comfortingly normal. He waved down at us amicably, but did not descend the stairs. "Felicia, I'm Felix. So we're both happy ones, as it seems." He laughed – a deep, booming sound, almost like the bark of a huge dog. "I guess you've come up here to take a peek at the infamous Pogonip, where The Lost Boys have been made?"

"Yes, sir, indeed," I answered, while wondering a little about his strange choice of words. "I didn't know that the house was inhabited, though. I don't want to intrude …"

Felix waved me off dismissively. "Nonsense. It doesn't matter. Jim can give you a tour of the house."

"Really? That would be splendid! Thank you so much …"

Jim grabbed my hand, grinning widely. "This house is quite the spectacle. You'll be stoked!" He tugged at me, pulling me further into the living room. In the background, I heard Felix say: "I'll round the kids up for dinner."

Jim dragged me over to a huge, but out of date hi-fi system. On our way, we passed an empty fireplace that looked like someone had held an autodafé there. Everything around it was blackened and burned.

"All's better in stereo!" Jim stated and giggled. He hit a few buttons on the hi-fi system, and first, there was music, something rock I vaguely recognized from way back then, but suddenly, the beats were drowned by a horrible screeching and yowling that made me cover my ears in shock.

"Damn you, Jim!" From out of nowhere, a young man appeared next to us, shutting off the noise with a movement almost to quick for the eye to see. "You know perfectly well to *not* use the stereo without checking with me first!"

"Uh … I'm sorry, Wayne … I forgot." The mischievous sparkle shone bright in Jim's eyes.

"The fuck you forgot!" The fuming newcomer was breathtakingly good-looking, with long, dark-brown hair falling over his shoulders and a slightly dark complexion that hinted at either Hispanic or Native descent. He appeared to be in his early twenties. As he noticed me checking him out, he turned from his sibling – with whom he held no resemblance whatsoever – to me. "'cuse me. Brother dear makes me forget myself sometimes." Jim's grin grew even wider at this. "I heard that you're called Felicia. Well, I'm Wayne. I guess you won't be staying long, so there's probably no use for further words." With that, he turned, and strode off in the direction of where I assumed the kitchen to be.

'Huh … that was weird,' I thought. 'And he is called *Wayne*.

"Never mind Wayne …" Jim said, still grinning rascally. "He and I don't exactly get along. He's one of Felix's sons, you know. We're a patchwork family: me and mom – you met her already – and my brother Gabe, then Felix and his four sons Daniel, Wayne, Matt and Pete. They're … uh … all from different mothers. And then there's Stella and Chico, the little one, who aren't exactly related to any of us … The kiddo hates to be called little one, so that's exactly what I do – all the time." He laughed out loud; a rich, bubbly sound. "Oh, and Grandpa. Never forget Grandpa."

From the living room, glazed sliding doors lead to where I assumed the taxidermy workshop to have been. They were shuttered and closed though, and a second look showed me that they were even padlocked.

Jim followed my line of sight with his eyes. "Oh, there's only garbage in there," he stated, off-handedly. "Believe me, you wouldn't wanna see that."

As I turned away from the locked doors, I thought that out of the corner of my eye, I saw something moving in the darkness behind the shutters.

Jim was tugging at my hand. "Let's go up!" he exclaimed, excited and strangely jubilant. The boy seemed a bit over the top. I followed him up the stairs, and he showed me his room and that of his brother. "Gabe wouldn't mind," he said confidently as he noticed my hesitation.

Gabe appeared to work out a lot, judging from the bar-bells and other fitness equipment littering the room, whereas Jim seemed to hold a special love for scantily clad male film- and rockstars of the eighties. There were also some distinctly female touches to Gabe's room, like a make-up table and some dresses on hangers in front of the closet. Jim snickered as if he had followed my confused line of thoughts. "That's Stella's stuff," he explained. "They're sharing a room, seeing that they're together and all. – I have to share with Chico," he added, pulling a face, "which is practically child abuse – meaning that *I'm* abused by it. But I guess I can't complain … the other guys have taken quarters in the storm cellar, and they are *four*."

The two rooms had the adjoining bathroom I knew from the movie. Without a visible reason, it made me slightly anxious to be in there - especially as I came near the clawed tub.

Back in the corridor, Jim pointed towards two closed doors in succession. "Mom and Felix, Grandpa."

Since I had set foot in the house, a creeping unease had slowly taken hold of me. I wasn't exactly sure where it came from. Maybe it was physical. So even though it was a bit embarrassing, I asked: "Uh … could I possibly use your bathroom for a minute or two?"

Jim's face scrunched up. Then, to my utter astonishment and mortification, he yelled: "Pete? Can our guest use the upstairs bathroom?"

There was a moment's pause, during which I felt the heat of embarrassment travel from my face to my guts. Then a male voice that sounded eerily close said: "Sure. No prob." I couldn't locate the person who had spoken and assumed that he must be behind one of the closed doors. Still, it was odd that his voice had seemed so near to me.

I was feeling more and more unsettled. A Corvette, a German White Shepard and a Malamute. A front yard and house that were equipped almost, but not quite like in the movie. A teenage boy who wore a slight resemblance to Corey Haim. A mother who wasn't called Lucy, but Mina – both characters from Bram Stoker's Dracula. The head of the house sharing a name with me and being as tall as Edward Hermann's character in The Lost Boys, but without glasses and creepy "fashion". A young man called Wayne, which was practically as good as Dwayne, who didn't look exactly like Billy Wirth, but if you described both without showing pictures of them, the description would probably turn out identical. And he wasn't exactly fond of the stereo system … A woman with two sons and a man with four sons whose names all held a resemblance to those of the vampire boys from the movie. A girl whose name meant Star, and a little boy whose named meant lad … A burned up fireplace, screeching and yowling from the stereo, an upstairs bathroom that made me feel very uneasy … And if the absence of certain things was also a hint, then the complete lack of stuffed animals presumably hinted at the presence of a David doppelgänger, who understandably didn't want to be reminded of anything anywhere near taxidermy – which would also explain the locked workshop.

My head was spinning. With a nod to Jim, I hastily slipped into the bathroom and locked it. Outside, the boy sang: "Lalala … I'm not listening … lalala … " in a loop, and suddenly, despite of all my confusion and uneasiness, I had to laugh.

I liked Jim. He seemed genuinely good-natured and friendly.

I looked around the room. It appeared perfectly normal, if a bit out of time.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe the heat of the day and the exertion of the hike had taken their toll on me. Maybe I should just use the toilet and would then already feel better.

However, taking care of my business didn't make the strange feeling in my gut go away.

When I turned on the faucet, the water came out in a reddish-brown trickle, and the pipes made strange, gurgling noises. It almost sounded as if someone were drowning deep down in the plumbing system.

'You're imagining things. It's only a movie. It never was real. These characters never existed. It's impossible that they roam the hills of Santa Cruz or the former Pogonip Country Club. They are fictional, so they never lived and never died, and therefore *cannot haunt this place*.'

"You have to let the water run for a minute, then it turns clear!" Jim called. Through the door, his voice sounded distorted and not like him at all.

'So much for not listening,' I thought. I heeded the advice though, and watched the icky, repulsive broth trickle out of the faucet until, abruptly, the pipes made a lurch I could feel vibrating through my entire body, and the water turned clear.

'They probably should renew the plumbing …'

I washed my hands, unlocked both doors and stepped into Jim's room. Someone was reclining on the bed, his upper body propped up against the headboard – but it wasn't Jim. It was a young man of roughly Wayne's age. His long blond hair framed his face nicely. Like Wayne, he was unusually beautiful, with high cheekbones, sensual lips and striking blue eyes.

'Must be Paul's counterpart,' I thought, and felt dizzy yet again.

"Hullo, girl," he said in a decidedly flirtatious tone, smiling widely. "Lil' bro was called down to help with dinner preparations. So good ol' Pete took over. – That's me, if ya couldn't guess."

"So you're one of the guys living in the cellar?" I asked a bit perkily, slightly embarrassed that he had probably sat there all the while why I had been busy peeing and whatnot.

He laughed. "Yeah, I am. And it's quite cozy down there. I heard that you like the Lost Boys … "

My stomach lurched at his words.

Pete smirked at me. "Well, we did our best to make it look like the cave …"

Before I could formulate a coherent answer, Pete had jumped up from the bed, grabbed my hand and started to pull me out of the room. I was unsurprised by the fact that, like Jim's, his fingers were chilly.

Pete led me down the stairs, through the sitting room and to a trap door that was almost invisible in the flooring, in the corridor just beside the taxidermy workshop. As he pulled the door open, an eerie blue light started to stream out, rising upwards like steam.

"It's black light," Pete explained. "Matty has a … condition. He needs special lighting."

Now, that was weirder than everything else. I had never heard of a person with a medical condition that demanded they live in black light – not even of a vampire or ghost.

Pete preceded me down the steep stairwell. As we arrived at the bottom of the steps and my gaze wandered over the room, I gasped in surprise and awe. The cellar was not as spacious as the movie cave, of course, but as far as the decoration was concerned, the ones responsible had done a splendid job. In the center, three loveseats stood in a circle, surrounding a basin with a fallen-down chandelier. Wind chimes made of shells, bones, starfish and glass were hung up everywhere. The whole place was littered with candles and every kind of knick-knack imaginable. There was a fourposter bed with ripped curtains standing against one of the walls, and a huge Jim Morrison poster opposite it. The walls themselves had been spray-painted with graffiti. Everything was bathed in the uncanny black light that inversed the colors and made the place appear quite spooky.

On one of the couches, hunched in on himself, sat a young man with short, curly hair. In the strange lighting, he appeared oddly two-dimensional. He looked up for a moment when he heard our footsteps, but didn't speak. His gaze really freaked me out. Matt must be Marko's counterpart, but something very bad had happened to him. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and he looked small and strangely fragile, almost transparent in the black light. He was huddled in a sheet or blanket. Pete went over to him and bent down, kissing the top of his head and speaking to him in a voice so low I couldn't make out his words. If Jim hadn't told me that they were brothers, I would have dubbed them lovers, judging from the way Pete acted with Matt. Maybe they were both.

As I pondered the odd dynamics of this strange family, and how it all might tie in with the movie, and if this maybe was some kind of elaborate joke, or a reenactment rehearsal or something similarly fantastic, someone appeared in the opening of the trap door, blocking the warm, yellow light that had been trickling down from the first floor. I couldn't make out the person's features, but as he spoke, I was sure that I hadn't heard him before. "Time for dinner," he said, and his smooth, cool voice made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

'David.' There was no doubt about it.

"Go ahead," Pete told me, and as I haltingly ascended the steps, the man who supplanted for David stepped away from the trapdoor. He was wiping his hands on a rug, leaving reddish-brown stains on the white piece of cloth. His hair was not bleached, but a natural sandy color. I noticed that, behind him, the doors to the taxidermy workshop were no longer locked. Next to him stood several unlabeled green bottles that looked as if they might contain wine, but in all likelihood didn't. He studied me with blue-gray eyes that were as cold as his voice, then curtly nodded his acknowledgement.

Man, this guy gave me the creeps! He was decidedly scarier than Kiefer Sutherland's David ever had been.

"How's Matthew?" he asked, and his voice sounded a little warmer and kinder than before.

I turned in time to see Pete shrug. "Like always, Daniel."

"We'll make him better," David-Daniel stated, his voice laced with determination. "Whatever the cost."

A young woman and a little boy stepped out of the sitting room – Stella and Chico. I noticed dark stains on both of their clothes, which concentrated on the left side of their upper bodies. The boy's jacket looked as if it had been stitched up right over the heart. The woman's chest was hidden by several flowing silk scarfs, but in her case too, the stains appeared most severe above where her heart had to be. As Stella laid eyes upon me, she seemed to shrink back. She pulled the little boy close, and looked ill at ease while doing so. Chico seemed annoyed by her action and broke free, running over to Pete, who lifted him up and into the air, making him giggle.

A young man came out of an adjoining room and stepped beside Stella. Judging from his features, it was Jim's brother Gabe. He and Daniel had a staring contest, before Gabe finally averted his eyes and put an arm around his girlfriend, reassuring both her and himself.

"Feeding time!" a voice called from out of the kitchen. I wasn't quite sure, but it seemed to be Felix's. "Come and get –"

He was cut off by the doorbell. It was a real bell with a string, and someone was pulling at it as if he or she wanted to dislodge the whole mechanism.

Pete made an exasperated noise.

"Jim!" Daniel bellowed. "Get your lazy bum over here and take care of that obnoxious friends of yours!"

"Howard! Phillips!" I heard Jim call, and a second later he was running past me, aiming for the front door. "This isn't exactly a good time …"

"We saw a woman hiking up here!" a gruff voice called from the other side of the door. "As of yet, she hasn't come back down, and it's almost midnight. We demand you hand her over to us, unscathed! Or else, we gonna exorcise this here place, once and for all!"

A collective groan rose from all of the people around me, and apparently from the other people in the house as well. It seemed as if the very building heaved a giant sigh of exasperation. Then a lot of angry chatter and cursing ensued.

"Fuck those toads!" Wayne, who had abruptly appeared from out of nowhere, exclaimed. "With them hanging around and constantly interfering, we'll never be able to fully anchor Matt to this place!"

"It's no use!" Felix's voice boomed over all of them. "If they exorcise the house, we're done for, once and for all. Hand her over, Boys!"

Suddenly, all lights went out. Someone grabbed me, and I was hustled quite roughly in the direction of the door. Before I knew it, it was pulled open, and that same someone quite literally flung me out. Before I could stand up again, a dark scheme jumped over me and caught me by the sleeve of my jacket – one of the dogs. A heartbeat later, it was joined by the other one. Despite my yelling of protest, I was dragged over the front yard and out through the gate. My head hit something hard, and I blacked out.

When I came to again, the sun was already rising, tinting the cloudless sky with soft hues of green and pink. My head hurt like hell. With difficulty, I managed to stand up. Everything was spinning around me, and I had to close my eyes for a minute. When I opened them again, the nausea was gone, and only a slight headache remained.

I turned to were I assumed the Pogonip Country Club to be. And there it was – surrounded by a large wire fence with "No trespassing!" signs on it, the paint peeling off the walls, the wood of the support beams rotting away, the whole building slowly decaying. But for brush and the occasional tree, the front yard was completely empty.

The house had clearly been deserted for decades.


End file.
